If it was my office, the view would be enough. The Hudson on one side. Uptown on the other. Beauty everywhere I look.
But it's hard to imagine Ty sitting at his desk, staring at the river or the Empire State Building.
No, more likely he lowers the fancy, almost invisible blinds so the light doesn't cast a glare on his computer.
There's another room, similar to his bedroom, but clearly designed for someone else. The purple sheets and black desk are a dead giveaway.
Then there's the guitar in the corner.
The model I have at home. The one I told him about three years ago.
Plus a very expensive stereo and a bookshelf stocked with old favorites.
This is supposed to be my room.
Maybe that's for the best. The feeling of his arms around me, his chest rising against my back—
I'm still craving it.
I can't sleep next to him for ten years without falling in love with him.
I move toward the stereo. Connect my cell.
Play Back to Black.
Amy's throaty vocals fill the space. I close my eyes, soak in the warmth of the sun, the coolness of the air-conditioning, the sweet sound of the music.
It feels like home.
Already, it feels like home.
That's scarier than anything. But it's a nice place to spend the next ten years. Big room, gorgeous view, walk-in closet.
The hangers are filled with my clothes. Finds from my trip with Paloma and a dresser packed with Ty's picks.
Lingerie.
Handcuffs.
Harnesses.
My thighs shake as I run my fingers over the soft leather. Two delicate cuffs joined on a thin metal chain.
Ready to attach to the wall, desk, bed, harness.
There's more in the next drawer. A riding crop. A paddle. A sleek vibrator, new, in a velvet box.
Did he buy all this in the last week?
The lingerie is my size. Everything. From the sexy yet practical black nylon bra to the sheer.
"Your water's ready." His voice interrupts me. He's standing there, in the doorframe, in running shorts and one of those sweat-wicking tanks, bathed in soft light.
"You're quiet."
"Your music's loud."
"Too loud?"
"No. I like it." He stands there, all tall and broad and sexy.
He's handsome in his suit, but this—
Sweat dripping off his strong shoulders, down his muscular thighs, over his tattooed arms—
Fuck.
What if I throw this harness on the bed? Ask him to go right now?
Will he get naked with me?
I want him naked. I want to touch every inch of his skin. Feel every ridge of his muscles. Trace every tattoo.
There's something new on his chest. And another, on his arm, above the geometric rose he shares with his brother.
"Would you like me to fix your tea?" he asks.
"You were on a run?"
He nods. "I can invite you next time."
"Please no."
He chuckles. "Your sister then. If she moves into the building."
If. That's a lot for him. An if, not a when. That's practically a promise to compromise. "She's fast."
"So am I."
Probably. Really, Sienna only invites me out of some mix of pity and sisterly duty. She says I need to exercise. Then she does a few laps with me, lets me walk the rest, breaks into a gazelle-like run. "She would like that. She likes you."
"Because I'm hot?"
"Mostly." I can't help but smile. "She texted her congratulations."
"Oh?"
"On getting laid."
He smiles. "Did you tell her?"
I shake my head. "She assumed. Since I didn't come home."
"My ego."
"Yes, your ego must be horribly wounded by me not telling my sister you rocked my world." I hold up a pair of leather handcuffs. "You'll only buy a single harness next time."
"You don't like it?" His voice is a challenge. A dare even.
I take it. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Yes." He releases the doorframe. "You can wear one next time."
Next time. I want that already.
I want to be here, in this gorgeous apartment, fucking him all day.
And I want to run back home, to claim everything in my life as mine for as long as I can.
There's a beep in the kitchen. The kettle.
"I'll make breakfast." He moves into the hallway
I sit with the lingerie. This symbol of my new life. Gorgeous, expensive, lush, erotic.
The perfect place for a beautiful, tended-to toy.
Part of me wants that. Part of me craves it.
Being Ty's toy. His plaything, to bend or break or fuck until he's done with me.
I'm already imagining scenarios. The two of us at his office. Him ordering me out of my dress. Binding my hands with these cuffs. Attaching them to the harness around my waist.
Bending me over his lap and spanking me.
Fucking me with his fingers.
Throwing me over his desk and driving into me.
I'm already wet. That's all it takes. The thought of him.
I want that. This. Even though it's completely fucked up.
But what about when we're not alone, in our apartment, giving into our dirty desires?
What about when we're out in the world?
We're still two people who want to fuck each other.